On Your Knees For the Captain
by sentbyfools
Summary: Damn her to hell and back; dark pirate Emma and prince Killian AU; contains non-con/dub-con, please heed the warning
1. On Your Knees For the Captain

**title: **on your knees for the captain

**summary: **damn her to hell and back

**notes: **dark pirate Emma and prince Killian au

**please heed the warnings:** dubcon/noncon; don't read if this bothers you

* * *

A sword is pressed to the back of his neck, keeping his head down as he kneels on the deck of the unfamiliar ship and glowers at the wooden planks that glimmer beneath him with the blood of his men.

_Damn them._

He hears the clink of boots on the deck and doesn't move when the footsteps stop right in front of him, just glares down at the steel tipped boots and tries not to think of everything he has lost in such a short space of time. He tries to calm the blood rushing in his head and think of a way out of this, but all he can hear is the sound of bodies being tossed overboard, the sound of his ship burning in the distance, the cries of his men as they drown and burn - and he tries to think, but all he can see are these damn steel toed boots.

"Now, now, boys, I think we can remove the blades. Look at them, there's no fight left in 'em."

Killian seethes and throws his head back when the blade is removed from his neck to finally meet the green-gold eyes of the owner of the boots. _The Captain_.

In nothing more than a sleeveless grey shirt and a pair of black leather pants, _she _looks nothing like the image of a pirate captain, but he knows that's what she is. He glares at her, hates her so much that he can taste it like bitter bile in the back of his throat. Her sword hangs loosely in her hand, blood smeared along the gleaming blade, the blood of his men, men he grew up with, men who trusted him, their prince, to keep them safe - and he _hates_ her.

"On your feet," she says.

For a moment, he thinks to ignore the command. She must see it in his eyes, the indecision, because she grins and repeats, colder this time in a tone that leaves no room for argument, "On your feet, _Prince_."

He stands up, staring at this cold beauty, _hating her_. She walks over to him, sword held out and he thinks for a moment to risk it, to grab her sword and run her through, but one of his men _- _John, only 17 - is praying now, and he has lost so much today, as much as he is willing to meet his death trying to stop her, he can't risk the lives of his few remaining men.

She stops just inches from him and holds his gaze while she wipes her blade clean on his shirt, before sheathing it.

"Thanks," she says with a wink.

He doesn't respond in any way, won't give this devil creature the satisfaction.

"Interesting," she murmurs, stepping closer to him so that they're standing toe to toe. "Do you know who I am?"

"Pirate," he spits out. "A bloody villain."

Her eyes shine so brightly, the smile breaking her face and it's a small moment, so small he could pretend he doesn't feel it, the attraction, if only she'd stop staring at his lips like she wants to devour him whole.

"Yes, I am a pirate. 'A bloody villain,' as you say. The name is Captain Emma Swan. Welcome to my ship," she says, wetting her bottom lip with her tongue, the smile still curving her mouth.

"Let my men go, and maybe I'll be merciful and your death will be quick," he says.

The pirate cocks her head at him, her gaze drawn back up to his. She grabs him by the collar of his blood soaked shirt. "Speaking of," she says. Her hands hold him tight to her, he can feel the heat pouring off her body in waves. She meets his glare with a small wicked smile. "Just what are your men's lives worth to you?"

_Far more than yours,_ he thinks, but he doesn't say a word, just continues to glare at her like he can smite her with just a look.

Laughing - laughing at _him - _she says, "I'm waiting, Prince."

He can't keep silent any longer. "Do your worst, pirate," he bites out.

"Oh, I'll do more than that."

She releases him roughly, pushes him back slightly so that he stumbles. She is still laughing as she turns to one of her men and says, "Take them below. This one's mine."

His men don't protest as they're lead below deck of the large ship, and Killian feels a pang in his chest when he realizes she is right. There is no fight left in them. It hurts him in a way that is sharp and raw and _real_.

"If you hurt them -" he starts, taking a menacing step towards her.

She unsheathes her sword so fast that it whistles through the air. She presses it to his chest, stopping his approach. The smile is still on her face as she says, "Their fates are in your hands."

He raises a brow at that, stares her down like his heart isn't thumping in his chest, like her blade wasn't _this_ close to cleaving him in two. "What do you mean?"

"Your brother will pay your ransom, no doubt. But..."

She traces circles around his chest with the tip of her blade, looking him over again with just a hint of something even darker in her eyes. "I've never had a prince before," she says.

She laughs like it's _funny_, and he snaps .

"My life, the lives of my men, this is all a game to you," he says.

She blinks at him, a slow roll of her eyes. "All of life is a game. Don't be angry that I'm not playing by the same rules as you."

He gapes at her. "The same rules as I...you mean the ones of common decency, of morality?"

She frowns, nose wrinkled in disgust. "Morality? A prince speaking of morality, how...quaint. The very nature of your position sets you at odds with what is moral, what is right. How do you think that your ancestors earned their title? And how do you think that you keep it? You have the blood of many on your hands, same as I."

"I defend my people," he snarls. "I fight to protect them from the likes of you."

"Well, it's settled, then. You'll do what I want, and I won't make your men walk the plank. Do we have an arrangement, _Killian_?"

He swallows, and his words taste like poison on his tongue.

"As you wish, _Emma_."

She pulls the sword away from his chest and crooks a finger at him. "Follow me, and for the sake of your men, don't try anything stupid."

She leads him down to the captain's quarters, unlocks the door and pushes him so that he stumbles inside. The first thing he notices about the room is the scent - melting candle wax, the sea, and something delectably sweeter. He looks around the room - simple furnishings save for the large bed at the center. He hears her lock the door behind her, shutting them inside.

_Not a smart move_, he thinks, and he turns, thinking to fight his way through her when he comes face to face with a blade again, this time a small, sharpened dagger made of gold, hilt covered in rubies.

"Like it?" she asks, twirling it just inches from his face. "It was supposed to be a gift to you for your 21st birthday."

Killian remembers that, remembers the hiccup in his celebration when his brother, his king, had pulled him aside and said that he was sending men out to chase down the pirates who'd attacked their fleet and sent hundreds of men to their deaths at the bottom of the ocean.

"That was you?" he says.

"My first act as Captain," she says, looking up to the side with a bright smile, savouring the memory.

He stares at her in growing horror. He'd thought he'd been captured by a woman pirate, but watching her now, the easy way she talks about the carnage she has wrought, it seems as if he has been captured by a demon in disguise.

"How can you be so cold?" he asks, words barely above a whisper.

All she does is shrug in response, and then the dagger is at his throat, pressing against his Adam's apple.

Unwilling to be intimidated, unwilling to show the fear making his heartbeat race, he meets her gaze without blinking. "What is it that you want?" he asks.

"I want a lot of things," she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. Dagger still pressed to his throat, she pauses, pursing her lips together and studying him. Time trickles by as she stares at him and he stares back, unable to tear his gaze away from this woman and her eyes, those swirling pools of green and gold, an abyss pulling him in and dragging him under.

"At the moment, however, what I really want is a bath," she finally says.

As if on cue, there is a knock on her door. She gives him a quick warning look, and then pulls the dagger away, heads to the door, and opens it to reveal one of her men, a practical giant, carrying two large steaming buckets in his hands.

"Hot water, Captain," the man says, a barely there tremor to his voice.

She nods towards the corner of the room where a large tub rests. Carefully, the man pours the water into the tub until the tub is most of the way filled, leaving the last of the water in one of the buckets.

As he moves towards her, he glances at Killian and their eyes meet for the briefest of moments. Killian refuses to let the pity and amusement in the man's gaze get to him. He may be her prisoner, but he is still a prince, still _better_ than any of these criminals here, and he'll be damned if he lets it seem otherwise. He'll be damned if he lets them defeat him.

"Thank you, you're dismissed."

The man leaves, shutting the door behind him. She locks it back. Turning to face him, she says, "Lose the shirt."

He stares at her, the words taking a moment to process in his mind. Truthfully, the reality of what she wants hadn't hit him until this moment. _I've never had a prince before._ What she wants...she wants_ him_, and he can't refuse her.

As he unbuttons his ruined shirt, he recalls the moment the fire started on the ship. He'd been trying to save his personal guard Lewis, uselessly trying to stop the flow of blood from his torn throat as it spurted outwards. The light had died in Lewis' eyes just as the fire burned bright behind him. Killian should have died there, should have burned with his ship, except one of the pirates had brought him up short, prodded Killian with his blade until he moved towards the plank leading to the other ship. Killian had gone without a fight.

Perhaps this was his punishment for selfishly hoarding his own life, for trying to survive. To live at the whims of this _woman_. To survive under her terms.

He swallows sharply as the last of the buttons give way and he pushes the shirt off his shoulder, throwing it to the ground.

"Don't look so down, prince. This isn't the end of the world," she teases.

Her words, her smile, and the way she wets her bottom lip are enough to break him out of his defeatist thoughts. She hasn't won, not yet.

He finds that resolve shaken again when he watches her lift the thin grey top over her head. He quickly glances away from her body to her face, but that isn't any safer because her mouth is open in a low moan, her eyes half-closed as she lifts her arms over her head in a stretching motion.

When she opens her eyes, there's a new expression on her face, one of curiosity.

"You know, most men's eyes wouldn't be on my face," she says.

"When I look at you, I feel cold," he snaps.

She blinks rapidly, her face going lax. For a moment, she looks taken off guard, but then her mouth settles into a smile again, and she says, "Well, let's see if we can warm you up."

Her hands slide lower and then she is wiggling out of her pants and boots. It isn't until she has tossed them to the side with the rest of her clothes that he realizes how vulnerable she is now.

Just a naked woman, no weapons, no men to protect her.

Just a woman.

Despite everything, he feels his stomach quake at the thought of attacking her while she is so defenseless. Killian has always believed in a fair fight. However, holding his men against him, that isn't fighting fair at all.

He studies her, eyes trailing down her body with the intent on finding the spot to hit her that will bring her down fastest.

"Don't be an idiot," she says.

Her words pull his sight back up to her face.

"I'm not as defenseless as I look, and attacking me will cost you dearly, this I can assure you," she continues. "I'll start with the boy. I'll make you watch as I run him through, and while he chokes on his own blood, I'll make you finish the job. Is that really what you want, prince? Because I promise you that I _will_ make good on my word. Like you said earlier, this is all a game to me, one I intend to win."

"What is winning to you? My brother will pay my ransom. Isn't the gold enough?"

She steps up to him. Placing her hands on his bare chest, she leans forward so that her mouth is centimeters away from his ear, and she says, "You asked me what I wanted, and I wasn't very honest with you. Well, I'm being honest now. I want to see you broken."

He wants to pull away from the warmth of breath, wants to push her soft hands away from his chest, wants to defeat her and escape with his men, but instead he trembles at her words because he can't do any of that. He trembles, shakes with pent up rage, but he doesn't do anything but stare down at her as she pulls back, and he says, "You will not break me."

She scrapes her nails down his chest gently and says, "We'll see."

Stepping back, she turns and walks over to the tub. This time, he can't help but look down at the round curve of her ass.

She steps inside, facing away from him and then lowers herself into the bath. All it would take to kill her would be to pick up the golden dagger she left lying on the floor and -

_No._

He can't entertain these thoughts any longer, not with her threat ringing in his ears. He'll just have to do what she wants until the ransom comes and they are free of her.

"Come here, prince," she says.

She crooks a finger at him and he lifts his feet, each heavy step taking him slowly to her side.

She nods towards the other end of the tub. "Hand me that cloth and the soap."

Killian moves to follow her command. He hands her the soap and the cloth and then turns away to her amusement, her laughter filling the small room.

Minutes pass as she splashes in the water and then he hears her stand. A wet hand touches his shoulder, and he turns back to face her.

"Kneel. I want you to bathe me," she says and laughs like she is sharing in her own private joke.

He almost resists. Almost. Unwillingly, he catches sight of a droplet of water making its way down her now wet cheek, and he follows the path it makes down her skin, sliding down her neck, through the wet mass of golden hair clinging to her, and down to the valley of her breasts where it stops.

He takes a deep breath and then another, willing his eyes to leave her body. When his eyes finally find her face again, her lips are pursed together in a thin line of consternation.

"Kneel," she repeats.

He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from shouting out what he thinks of her demands, and slowly bends his knees so that he is staring at the floor again. There's a pool of water on the floor from her body and he stares at his reflection in it. He looks _-_ he tears his gaze away from the water just as she bends and thrusts the cloth into his face.

He makes the mistake of looking up. He hates her, he hates her, _he hates her_, but he hates himself more as he stares up at her naked body and finds his cock straining inside his breeches.

"You're on your knees for a reason, prince. Are you forgetting so quickly?" she says, her sweet tone laced with the steel of a threat that he knows she is more than willing to carry out.

He turns to the bucket at his side and soaks the washcloth again. Starting at her ankle, he scrubs her roughly as if he could scrub away his own arousal with the dirt from her skin. She doesn't flinch at the rough touch and when he looks up at her, she is smiling.

"Did I say you could stop?" she says.

He tears his gaze away from her furiously, scrubbing harder until her skin is red from his touch as he reaches the apex of her thighs. One swipe, two, and he refuses to give her more attention than that, starts down her other leg until he reaches the ankle.

He wishes he was unaffected by this, wishes that staring at her tanned, toned thighs and touching her soft skin didn't make him want to touch her as much as he wants to see her punished for what she has done. It's not like he's an innocent, he can't blame his growing arousal on being unaccustomed to the situation. He's seen and been with plenty of women before but never ones who wielded their sexuality like a blade made of the sharpest steel, never someone like Captain Emma Swan.

When he pulls away, finally done washing her, she leans down and places two fingers under his chin. Forced to look at her, Killian meets her deadly gaze, hatred and desire warring within him as she says, "There's a good little prince, but we're not finished just yet."

She grabs him by his hair, tosses one leg over his shoulder so that he is staring into her cunt now and says, "Kiss me like you mean it."

He isn't going to let her win. He can't let her win. He needs to gain some kind of control of the situation so he follows her command to a tee, uses all his skill to make her fall apart, spreading her sex with his tongue, teeth grazing her clit teasingly every time he sucks the little pink bud into his mouth, nose brushing between her folds to inhale her enticing scent. He pulls away for a breath of air and then dives back in, licking and tasting, until her leg trembles on his shoulder and her grip in his hair loosens and tightens, loosens and tightens as her orgasm rocks through her.

He makes no attempt to hold her up as she stumbles backwards off of him, takes pleasure in the way her eyes go wide and she has to balance precariously on the balls of her feet to keep from falling over.

She catches herself finally, and her eyes narrow at him. For a split second, he can see the devil's flames burn in her eyes as her expression erupts in anger. The anger is replaced quickly by a nasty smile that has him drawing in a heavy breath and chastising himself for trying to test her.

What she might do now...

"Up," she demands.

"I guess it's time for me to return the favour," she says when he is standing again.

She takes the cloth out of his - and goddamn him -_trembling_ hands. Her hands are gentle, gentler than he would've thought she could be, as she wipes the sticky blood from his chest. She is so gentle as she cleans his neck and arms, gentle as she loosens his pants to slide them down his legs. And it's this gentleness that sets him trembling again because here is a woman capable of so much horror, a woman who had just forced him to his knees and made him taste her after killing most of his crew, and yet he found himself leaning into her touch, searching for comfort from _her_ of all people. As if her gentle touch somehow redeemed her.

He screws his eyes shut as he feels his arousal build again while she bends and cleans him from ankle up on both legs before turning her attention to his erection, now hard and aching between his legs. He knows if he opens his eyes, if he sees her kneeling there between his legs, he'll do something stupid like _want_ her. Right now, he can pretend that it isn't her touching him. Right now, she's just a nameless, faceless woman.

"Oh, come on, prince, don't look away from me. Don't tell me you treat all your lovers this way?"

He cringes, eyes flying open in anger.

"You are not my lover," he says.

Her wet hand wraps around his length, strokes upward in a skilled motion. He lets out a gasp. He slips up, looks down at her as she strokes his cock. She is smiling, so amused, always amused. He'd rather see her anger again, see anything but that look of humour at his defilement.

"Your mind rebels," she says. "But your body doesn't."

She hums a little as she thumbs the head of his cock in quick caresses. Killian breathes through his nose, desperate not to make a sound, desperate not to give her the satisfaction.

He closes his eyes and her hand leaves him. When he opens them again, she is standing, staring at him curiously. She catches his gaze and the curiosity leaves her expression, replaced by that damned smile.

"On the bed," she commands.

He tries to pull his pants back up so he can walk but she makes him kick off his shoes instead, walk naked to the bed.

Killian tries not to think; his mind feels foggy anyway, like his thoughts are swimming through molasses, blurry and sluggish. The only thing that he knows for certain in this moment is that he is hard and despite everything, she is undeniably beautiful.

That he cannot blame himself for. He can't blame himself for wanting her. He is only a man after all.

_A prince_, a treacherous voice whispers in his head.

"On your back, arms above your head," she says.

He crawls onto the bed, follows her command and raises his arms above his head. She stalks over to him and he feels the first waves of panic rise when she reaches to the floor and pulls up chains.

"Don't worry," she says coolly.

She shackles his right wrist to the bed and moves to do the other one. He bites his lip, nearly losing it. He was this close to begging her not to do it. He won't beg her. A prince does not beg. A man might, someone broken definitely would, but not him.

Killian is not broken.

When she moves away, she dries herself off and dresses without a word. He watches her from his position on the bed, waiting for her to make another move, to do something else.

Except she just leaves.

As if he isn't there at all.

When he hears the lock click in the door, he breathes out heavily. Left with only his thoughts, he finds himself laughing. He woke up this morning to the thought that he'd be home soon from his grand adventure at sea, that he'd see his brother, that he'd find a beautiful woman to spend his evening with, that he'd drink and party and have a good time. He'd never thought that he'd find himself here, chained to a bed with no choice, no freedom, no hope of anything except for his brother to pay his ransom quickly. What a fool he had been, expecting nothing but good times. He'd been so foolish, unprepared, and thus, he'd been caught off guard and now he has to pay the price for that.

He watches the fading light on the walls as the sun goes down until finally the room is dark and sleep takes him under.

* * *

He wakes up with a sharp intake of breath. Heat pulses in his veins, and Killian opens his heavy eyes slowly. He must be dreaming the sweetest nightmare because the her mouth is wrapped around his cock, warm and wet and sucking lightly, just the right amount of pressure. Her hair is brushed to the side so he can watch when she reaches between his spread legs to fondle his balls softly, rolling them in her hand.

She pulls off of his cock with a wet popping noise that echoes in the quiet room, and for the first time since he awoke, their eyes meet.

She smiles so sweetly that for a moment he forgets the monster hiding underneath, but then she laughs, _that goddamned laugh_ and kisses the thick pulsing vein on his length. He shudders uncontrollably, a tear of precum slipping from the head of his cock that she licks away. She moves on the bed and he realizes that she's naked again.

"What do you want, prince?" she asks.

Killian shuts his mouth tight. He may be swollen and tight and impossibly aroused, but he still has control over himself and he isn't going to let this pirate take him so easily.

"Nothing?" She raises an eyebrow. Shrugging, she says, "That's a pity."

She licks a long stripe up his hard length, presses a wet kiss just beneath the head and then licks around and around it. Sparks dance behind his eyes and he opens his mouth, unable to keep it closed any longer.

"What do you want?" she asks again.

"I don't want a damn thing," he says.

"Alright."

She stands, leaving his hard cock bobbing uselessly in the air. He slams his eyes shut when she moves towards him. The bed dips, and when he opens his eyes, she is standing up and dressing.

"Wait," he says.

"Hmm," she asks, raising an eyebrow in clear amusement.

He shuts his mouth tight, afraid that if he opens it again, words that he never meant to say will come pouring out.

"Alright then," she say, returns to dressing.

She leaves him again, and this time, he does not sleep, instead counting the minutes she is gone in his head while he tries to ignore the way his cock burns between his legs.

When she returns, it's about half an hour later, and he's still hard. There's an evil glint to the smile she wears when she undresses and joins him back on the bed.

"I was thinking of you, and I couldn't stay away," she says. He's heard these words before, from women he's bedded, but coming from her lips, the words are like poison to his ears.

She lies beside him on the large bed, and this time, she doesn't have to tell him not to look away because he couldn't do that even if he tried. One hand thumbs her clit, rubbing it in tiny circles while the other pushes into her wetness - he can see the liquids glistening on her fingers in the dim light of the candles. And the noises she makes, soft breathing interjected with tiny gasps as she touches herself.

_Please,_ he thinks. He wants her, wants her so badly he aches with it, and he feels his control slipping as if it were never there to begin with.

"Killian," she murmurs, and hearing his name on her lips while she slips two fingers into herself is torture, pure torture.

When he looks up at her face, her eyes are fixed on him. She must've read his mind because she asks, "Do you want me?" Her innocent tone is belied by the way she sucks her thumb into her mouth before returning it between her legs.

"No," he grits out, trying to convince himself of this.

"You're lying," she says. "I can see it in your eyes."

"Oh, and what else do my eyes tell you?" he spits out.

She doesn't respond, instead letting out a sharp gasp, her eyes rolling upwards as her movements become frantic. He tries to fight her; Killian has always believed that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets - but as much as he wants to look away, he wants her even more, so he watches, eyes focused on her face and the way her nose scrunches and her forehead wrinkles as she opens her mouth in a loud cry, coming around her fingers.

She pants for a little while, chest heaving. When she comes down, she pulls her fingers out of herself and brushes her wet fingers across his bearded cheek.

He finds his heartbeat racing in his chest when the urge to lick out and taste her wetness hits him hard. His cock is so hard, needy and leaking down his length.

"I wish you could see yourself," she murmurs as she moves away. He'd forgotten the chains on his wrists, but now that she is releasing him, he feels the blood rush back into them, pins and needles almost as painful as his hard cock.

"You're so handsome like this," she says. She pauses as she crawls over him to release the other wrist. "Perfection."

"Shut-up," he hisses.

A surprised laugh escapes her. "Oh, are you feeling a little warm under the collar, prince? A little hot and bothered?"

He wants to move, he really does, and he can now that she's released him. Curse her, curse his men, he should just strangle the life out of this demon, save everyone from her, but he can't - he can't do it. Because he wants her too much.

He bites his lip to keep from crying out when her hand encircles his length, not enough pressure, enough friction to even make the touch bearable.

"Tell me what you want, prince."

He looks down at her. She places a soft kiss to the head of his cock, her long blonde hair caressing his balls when she leans forward.

"Just tell me what you want."

He bites through his lip, tastes blood flow heavy and thick as he fights. _Keep fighting_, he tells himself. _Keep fighting._

"Killian," she says again.

He opens his mouth to deny her, but all that comes out is sharp cry as she squeezes his cock.

"Fuck you," he curses. "I want you, dammit. I want _you_."

She laughs, the sound taunting him. "All you had to do was ask."

Moments later, she is straddling him, only to flip their bodies with a strength that he didn't know she possessed in her lithe frame.

Her knees are spread around him. She is so warm beneath him, the heat leaving her skin in waves that wash over him. Her wet core presses against his erection, and damn him, damn her, but he can't resist her. Damn him ten times to hell, but he can't resist the way she looks at him with those devil eyes, beckoning him in.

He leans forward, kisses her ravenously, insatiably, tries to drown her with his kiss just as surely as she has drowned him with her laugh. She pants into his mouth, grinds her hips up push into his erection, wetting his length with her heat.

"_Emma_," he spits out, her name a curse on his lips.

She laughs breathily as he rubs the head of his cock through her wetness, sliding it up and down her slit before settling at her core and pushing inside. For a woman who has had many partners, she is tight, almost painfully so. When the head of his cock finally breaches her, he pushes in slowly, stretching her bit by bit. He is looking at their joined bodies, at the way his cock settles inside her, but she makes this delicious noise and he has to look at her, to look into the eyes of the demon as he falls.

She stares up at him, and for once there is no deception in her gaze. Her expression bared to him just like her body, he can see the desire burning bright in her eyes, the pleasure marked on the rounded 'o' of her mouth. This is what she wanted. He is giving her exactly what she wanted.

She has won, and he has lost.

He slams his hips into hers uncaringly, pulls out only to slam back in again and again. She whines, wraps her hands around the headboard to keep from being pushed any farther up the bed by his wild thrusts. He can hear her nails scraping against the wood just barely over the sound of their bodies meeting. She feels so good wrapped around him, her slick walls clenching and drawing him in every time he tries to pull out.

She is biting her bottom lip now so hard that the skin is turning white, and her eyes are half-closed. Her breasts bounce against her chest, so inviting, and it's not like he can refuse her now, so he bends over her, taking one dusky nipple into his mouth and sucking on it until it drags a ragged cry from her lips.

"Killian."

He could pretend he doesn't hear her, he could if he had any strength left in him. With one last sucking kiss, he pulls away from her breast to look into her eyes.

Apparently that's all she needed because she bucks her hips up into his, her orgasm taking him by surprise as her walls tighten around him, the sweetest of vices. He moans, his thrusts becoming erratic, fast, and sloppy. He slips out of her, fumbles to push back inside of her still trembling body as he searches out his own orgasm. He can feel the tight pressure building, but it isn't until he looks at her, sees her smiling up at him with none of her usual amusement, just pure satisfaction, that he finds his release deep inside her hot core.

He collapses on top of her. Her hands move to his face, cupping his cheeks and pulling him into a kiss while his spent cock softens inside of her. He can't breathe at all, but somehow he manages to move his lips, to press his tongue against hers in a wet dance.

She is the one to pull away, and there is no god that can help him now as he whines, bereft of her touch.

Her hands that were cupping his cheek move to push him off of her. He rolls to the side of the bed, just managing to catch himself before he falls off. Not that he would care, not after the fall he has already had.

He doesn't realize it's happening until the first chain is wrapped around his wrist, and for a long moment, he just lies there and lets her do the same to his other wrist. He doesn't care what she does to him now, he doesn't until she leans over him and the words leave her mouth.

"I didn't think breaking you would be so easy."

She grins at him, laughter lit in the lines around her eyes. Suddenly, he burns, hotter and brighter than before.

"I will have my revenge," he says, shaking the chains on the bed wildly, furious, so furious at himself for giving in and letting her defeat him, and he stares at her with every ounce of hatred in his body.

She places a soft hand on his forehead, brushing the sweaty locks of hair from his skin. "I'm sure you will," she replies, still laughing.

He bucks against her hand and she pulls away only to jump off the bed on nimble legs and walk over to the side of the room he can't see.

She is going to leave him again - leave him spent and angry and _broken_, and that's the worst fate he can imagine at this point, being left alone to wallow in his own misery and hatred while she is able to roam free as if she hasn't torn him to pieces with just her touch.

He fights against the chains again, doesn't care how they bite and sting, he just needs - _needs_.

She returns to his side, looks down at him, sighing heavily so that her breasts rise and fall. In her hand is a small coin purse. She moves towards him and he shakes the chains again, thrashing on the bed. Grabbing his chin with one small hand, she forces him to face her.

They stare at each other, and he thinks he sees regret in her eyes, but the look is gone so quickly that it might never have been there at all.

She leans forward, places a gentle kiss on his lips.

"Sweet dreams, Killian," she says.

She reaches into the bag, coming up with a handful of dust that she blows into his face.

Darkness cloaks him, pulls him in and wraps him in its tight embrace as if it never wants to set him free.

He wakes up without chains. Her scent surrounds him, and he looks for her in the room he is in, but she is nowhere to be seen. Moments pass before he realizes that he can no longer smell the sea.

He's on land. Probably in a tavern by the looks of the room. She'd set him free.

Emma had set him free.

He grits his teeth in mockery of a smile as the guards burst through his door, shouting his name, asking if he is alright.

"I'm fine," he says to them. He sniffs as they pull him from the room, realizes that her scent clings to his skin like she clings to his very soul. He has been branded by her. All he can see is her smile as she admired her handiwork, so very proud of the broken man she made.

Someone asks him if he is alright again, and Killian turns to their voice and says, "I'm fine," again, because he will be.

_I will have my revenge, _he vows.

_I will have my revenge._


	2. What It Takes For Me To Control You

**title: **what it takes for me to control you

**summary: **sequel to "on your knees for the captain." _bow before your king_.

**notes: **dark!fic, um this turned out much differently than I originally planned, idk idk

**warnings: **dubcon/noncon, same as before

* * *

She had always wanted to be a princess.

Once, long ago, it was thoughts like these, that her parents would come find her and whisk her off to a castle where she would be safe, warm, and fed, that got her through the cold nights.

That was before she stopped believing in fairytales.

Before she realized the world was a cold, cruel place and that if she was ever to get anything she wanted, she would have to be just as cold and cruel.

Before she took her first life, watched the light die in the man's eyes, and realized that she didn't have to be powerless anymore.

Power.

That's all she wants now.

Power. She craves it, needs it, it's the very thing that fuels her, keeps her pushing for more. It's what makes her attack his ship in the dead of night, uncaring for the consequences.

Power. It's what set her on the path she is on now, the reason she is now kneeling at his feet, staring into the bottomless blue depths of his eyes. And he sits on his golden throne, legs spread wantonly with his bearded chin in his hand, watching her.

Power. He thinks he has it.

A smile plays on her lips. She may be the one in chains, but she will show him exactly what it is to be a prisoner.

* * *

Every day since, every time he has closed his eyes, instead of darkness he sees her hazel eyes and the green flames that danced in them, so like the flames of hell that his priest warned him about when he was young, the very same priest that she left to burn alive on his ship.

And now that he has her before him, it is as if she never abandoned him in that tavern. Captain Emma Swan is the blonde siren that has wormed her way into his very soul, rotting him from the inside, and now she is here, in the flesh, five years and immeasurable distance later, she is here.

He takes her in like a man starved, pours over her body, noting the new scar on her arm - a cut from elbow to wrist - noting the way the long, thin blue dress flows over her frame, the way the bronze chains jingle on her wrists, and the way her blonde hair rustles as she twists her head to meet his gaze. He watches her, and she watches him, and they stay like that, as if they are the only people in the world until she breaks the spell.

"If the King wished an audience, all he had to do was ask," she says. She splays her hands out as far as the chains will allow and says, "There was no need for all this."

"I thought it was fitting to have a prisoner in chains," he says. Looking her over with lascivious eyes, he adds, "Besides, I like the look."

"Well if you like it...who am I to deny the King?" she says with a smirk that is all icy humour and cold seduction. She is already playing games again. Killian smiles. She can play her games, but she is playing in his house now, and he sets the rules.

"You've denied me before," he says.

She shrugs her shoulders. "Not entirely true. I gave you what you wanted in the end."

Fury burns through him, white hot and nearly blinding.

"Leave us," he says to the guards in the room.

They don't ask if he's certain, whether it would be safer for them to remain. His servants never ask anything of him anymore. Not since Liam's murder. Not since _Emma_.

Emma raises an eyebrow, turns her head to watch them go. "Alone at last," she says.

"What I wanted," he says, "was for my men to get home to their families. What I wanted was for them to sail the oceans freely without fear of attack. You did not give me what I wanted."

"Your nobility is admirable, it really is, prince."

"_King,_" he corrects, the golden crown weighing heavy on his head.

_Admirable._ She thinks he's admirable. He feels the smile curve his lips, a baring of his teeth that probably makes him look as feral as the servants whisper that he is now when they think he can't hear. She still thinks she can win. She hasn't even realized that the game was lost the moment she turned her sights on him, the moment she decided to set him free.

"You didn't put up much of a fight," he says, turning the conversation.

She shrugs. "I'm a survivor. I know how to pick my battles."

He leans forward in his chair, regarding her as if he didn't expect that exact response. "So, this is a battle you think you can win?"

"History repeats itself," she replies smoothly.

Killian stands then. He steps towards her slowly, a predator on the prowl. She watches him move with a smile that says she isn't worried.

She should be.

He reaches her, bends his knee so that he is on the same level as her.

"Aye, that it does," he says. "And what about your history, love? This must bring back lovely memories for you."

She doesn't gasp, no, getting a reaction so unrestrained from her _so soon_ would be too good to be true. But she does something just as good. Her eyes go wide and the smile twists on her lips into an almost snarl.

"Tell me something, _King_, between ruling the kingdom, protecting your people, and avenging your brother, when did you ever find the time to search out little old me?" she bites.

"I make the time for the important things," he says.

"Important to the king? Me?" She touches her chained hands to her chest, mock surprise on her face. "You certainly know how to make a woman feel special."

"You are," he says, reaching out to touch her cheek. "Very special."

She leans into the touch, eyes closing so that her long blonde eyelashes dust her cheeks. He knows what she is thinking. Crush him by giving him what he wants. Break him to pieces and revel in the destruction.

He smiles. You can't break what's already broken.

"You disappeared on me. Five years is a long time," he says.

She opens her eyes, peering at him. "Too long," she says breathily.

"Aye," he says."Far too long."

He trails his thumb along her chin, watches her open her mouth to release a tiny sigh when his ring catches on the corner of her mouth.

Slowly, he moves his hand downwards to her neck. He squeezes lightly, just enough that it leaves red marks in her skin. She doesn't even breathe as he touches his hand to her shoulder and pushes the strap of the dress down.

"Killian," she murmurs huskily.

He snaps his eyes back to her, leaving the sight of her bared collarbone behind.

"Emma."

They stare at each other again. In the silence of the empty throne room, he can hear her every breath, in time with his. She inhales, he exhales. He exhales, she inhales.

In sync, in tune.

He is the one to break the spell this time.

"Get up," he says.

He takes his crown off, leaves it lying on the floor, and hauls himself to his feet. He doesn't need his crown to prove his power.

She stands up and he walks her in front of him the few feet to his throne. He bends her over the throne with her dress pushed up on her back so that she is ass up for him, legs spread so that he can see everything. She isn't wearing underwear. Folds open, her pink cunt revealed to him, and she is soaking wet. He hasn't done a damn thing, and she is soaking wet. Her sweet juices drip from her and he kneels down so his head is between her legs and sticks his tongue out to taste the honey of her sex.

"We both knew that this what you wanted before I even entered the room. Fuck me, already," she says as he licks a long stripe from her entrance to her throbbing clit.

"Very unladylike words," he murmurs into her cunt. He breathes her in, the heavy perfume of her arousal pulling him under.

"I'm no lady. I'm a pirate, and I have no qualms about demanding what I want," she says. To her credit her voice doesn't waver even though he returns to licking her cunt, thoroughly wetting her clit with his tongue.

Addicted to her intoxicating taste, it is with a sigh that he finally pulls away and stands. Her thighs are trembling and he likes the sight of her with her blue dress racked up on her back to reveal the tiny scar at the base of her spine.

He leans forward, presses a kiss to that scar, and smiles into her skin when that makes her shiver. He wants her to do more than shiver. He wants her to shake until she falls apart.

"So that's what you want? You want me inside you?"

"Yes," she says. "And you're going to give me what I want."

"And why is that, love?" he says, resting his hand on her back, the curve of her spine sharp and real beneath his skin. How many times has he imagined this exact situation? How many times has he woken up in a sweat, with the image of her thighs emblazoned in his mind?

She twists her head back for the first time since he's pushed her onto the throne, and the green flames are in her eyes again, burning so bright. _Just like in his dreams_.

"Because you want to," she says.

"You're right," he says brightly.

Pushing two ringed fingers into her cunt, he fucks her open as deep as his rings will allow, stretching the tight walls. She is still twisted to look at him and she is grinning, so full of glee.

Killian smirks right back at her. That's when he pulls his fingers from her cunt.

"Finally," she says, tilting her ass upwards and spreading her legs wider.

Fingers still soaked in her juices, he watches her face as he trails them down the crack of her ass. The smile drops, replaced with an expression he has never seen on her.

_Fear._

She is freaking out, turning her head away from him so he doesn't see, and it only makes him push his fingers ever so slowly against the tight ring until they slip inside her. He stretches her slowly, knows it must burn her, the stretch, because she is so damn tight back there. His smirk turns into a full grin because she has never had anyone do this to her and she is shaking so beautifully now. _So damn beautiful._

She laughs, throaty and raw, and whispers, "You're a bastard."

He laughs too, genuinely amused. "Turnabout's fair play, love."

He pulls his fingers out all the way. Her legs move closer together, and he is sure she doesn't realize that it is only making her look even more delectable, making her puckered pink hole look even more inviting. He dips his fingers back into her cunt, three this time just so he can watch her fingers scrabble against the seat of the throne. Her nails scrape loudly, the chain around her wrists rattles, and she breathes heavy, a sound that is loud in the empty throne room.

"You're not wet enough," he says, tugging his fingers from her cunt with a loud squelching noise.

He kneels again, and it is amusing, him kneeling before his own throne so he can fit his tongue against her cunt, suck her juices down until she is whispering words he can't understand. Kneeling so he can lick all the way up from her cunt to her other hole, shove his face between her cheeks to eat her like he is trying to fucking devour her. She tastes muskier there, less sweet, but it is just as delicious. He licks her hole, shoves his tongue inside until she is gasping with every touch.

She is beyond shaking now. That she can even hold herself up is a feat. He feasts on her and now, in between every sweet gasp, she says his name, angry and heated and heavy with arousal.

"If you're going to do it, just do it already," she says, and it is so close to begging.

If Killian were a weaker man, he'd give in. But she made him strong, she gave him this power that he now wields against her, and so he just sticks his tongue into her as deep as it will go, wiggling it past the loosened ring. With the hand that isn't wrapped around her thighs, now helping her to hold herself up, he runs it between her wet folds, finds her clit and traces light circles around it.

She tries to press back against him. _Bad move._ He pulls away from her cleft to kiss her right ass cheek, and then he bites down on the soft skin, and she _yelps_.

_So close_.

His releases her thigh, keeps circling her clit with his other hand, but reaches down to palm his cock through his pants. He's waited for this moment for so long, so very long. He won't be undone just yet.

He bites down again, holds her skin in his teeth and shakes his head until she tries to pull away from his touch, only making him bite down harder.

When he pulls away, there are teeth marks branded on her skin. Warmth shivers through him at the sight.

"There's only one way this is going to end," he says.

He sucks on the abraded skin and then blows on her asshole, his spit glistening on the puckered opening in the light of the twinkling chandeliers. God, she trembles so nicely.

His knees are starting to hurt from kneeling on the rug. It doesn't matter; pain only makes you stronger. She taught him that. And now he is going to return the favour.

"I want to hear you beg," he announces.

She laughs. "Is that what this is all about? Predictable, very predictable."

"Sweetheart," she says, her voice rough. "Fuck me please."

He shakes his head.

"You must have misread me," he says, standing.

He slaps a heavy, ringed hand down on her ass hard enough to leave a red mark, the imprints of his rings. She twists her head again to face him. There is colour in her cheeks now, a splotchy red that makes her eyes look even brighter, and those very eyes are rimmed with wetness, but she stares at him with a defiant set to her lips, daring him to comment.

"Misread you?" she asks.

"I'm not going to fuck you," he says. He laughs. "No, my darling Emma, _you _ are going to fuck me."

She actually does snarl this time. She growls too, and the fury that blazes on her face only makes him laugh harder.

"Beg me," he says when he gets a hold of himself.

"No," she says.

_Beautiful_.

"Let me tell you what's going to happen because for such a smart woman, you don't seem to get it. You're going to beg me to let you fuck me. And when you do, I'll let you get up from that chair. I'm going to sit down. And when I'm settled, you're going to take my cock out of my pants, you're going to crawl on top of me, and you're going to ride my cock in your ass."

"And why would I do any of that?" she snaps.

He walks around her so that he can reach and touch her hair. It feels like fine gold strands beneath his fingers, soft and rich. He waits, and only seconds after he started touching her, she leans back into his touch.

"Because you want to," he says, fisting his hands in those golden strands and tearing her head back. He leans down, nips and bites and sucks at her exposed neck until she is bruised and panting and moaning. Her neck is littered in torn skin and marks when he pulls away, marks that will stay.

He hopes he has scarred her.

She stares up at him with angry slits for eyes, remains rigid in her bent position. She is fighting a losing battle. There's a small pool of wetness on the floor between her legs. She is beaten and battered and _aroused._

"Can I fuck you? Please?" she says softly.

She's right. He is a bastard.

"What was that love? Didn't quite hear you?"

Her body shakes, this time he knows with pent up rage. She doesn't turn to attack him though. Like he said, she is a smart woman. Instead she coughs, and says, loud enough that it bounces off the walls, "Can I fuck you? Please?"

He has won. Nothing has ever felt so sweet.

"Stand up," he says.

Slowly she does. Her hair is a mess from when he pulled at it, and the dress doesn't fall all the way back down when she stands. It's a good look on her.

He walks past her, seats himself back on the throne, spreads his legs wide and pats his lap.

"Come, Emma," he says, grinning.

"Fuck you," she curses, but moves anyway.

She undoes his pants and he steels himself for the first touch of her hand on his hard cock. Even so, he has to grit his teeth together to keep from breaking the smile when she finally grasps him.

She starts to turn around, to sit herself down on top of him, but he tsks and places a hand out to stop her.

"I want to see your face," he says when she turns around to look at him.

Her face wrinkles into a vicious mask. She climbs onto the seat stiffly, straddling him, hands holding onto his shoulders. She could strangle him like this. It would be easy for her to wind the chains tying her wrists together around his neck. He knows it occurs to her, but she holds back. That she does only makes him smile wider.

"You're gonna want to relax. I wouldn't want to see you hurt yourself," he says, mock-soothingly.

"Fuck. You," she says.

"Yes, that's the idea," he replies.

He chuckles at his own joke and then reaches out to wrap his hands around her waist, dragging her dress up so he can watch. He wants to see as he enters her, wants to see every little thing as he takes this from her.

His cock brushes up against the cleft of her ass. He switches his gaze to her face, sees the defiance tremble in her expression.

"Go on," he says.

When she sinks down onto his cock, it's indescribable. She makes a sound like she is dying, a whimper and a cry torn from her throat, but she doesn't stop and it is everything he ever wanted. Her wet cunt leaking onto his throne while her ass sucks him inside, inch by glorious inch.

He watches himself disappear inside her until she is sitting in his lap. Her breath comes in short, quick pants and she is looking down at their joined bodies as if she can't believe the sight.

Minutes slip by as he lets her sit in his lap, and then she pulls her eyes away, back up to his face. "You haven't won a damn thing, you know," she huffs.

He heaves her to him so that her hardened nipples drag against him. She whines plaintively because it pulls her upwards on his cock, just a little but it burns him so it must burn her even more. He soaks in the helpless sound.

"Haven't I?" he says.

"You think just because I'm fucking you that you have power over me? My body is just a tool," she continues, her voice an octave higher, still struggling to catch her breath.

She lifts herself up finally. The tightness is suffocating, too good and he groans in time with her when she seats herself back down.

Her nails dig into his shoulders, painful and sharp. He loves it, craves her anger as much as he craves her tight ass wrapped around his cock.

"I'm using you, Killian," she says.

"I'm using you to get what I want," she says.

He smirks, cocks his head at her, and says, "And what is it that you want, darling?"

She lifts her shaking knees, slides up all the way this time so that only the head of his cock rests inside her, and then pushes back down so slowly that it steals the breath from his lungs and he is drowning in the fumes as he burns. He closes his eyes while she fucks him, opens them only when he feels her breath hot on his lips. Her tongue slips inside before he can think to do anything. He sucks her in, feeding off of her. They kiss, open eyed the entire time. He can't look away from her. Doesn't want to look away from her.

She is everything he hates.

Everything he wants.

Everything he needs.

When she pulls away this time, she rocks her hips against him instead of riding him, dragging against his painfully hard cock. He feels like he is going to explode, crack and shatter like he isn't already a broken thing.

"What is it that you want?" he demands. Desperation creeps into his voice, but he doesn't care. Let her know how desperate he is. A desperate person is a dangerous one. She knows this far better than even him.

"I want the world," she says. "I want the whole goddamned world."

He thrusts up into her until he is sealed within the hot vice of her ass. She stops moving, crying out his name.

_Killian._

His name on her lips, her forgets, forgets everything except what he has dreamed about every night for five years.

_Her._

_Emma_.

"Well, if that's what you want. You can have it. I will give you the world," he says fiercely.

His hand moves from her waist to tug and rub at her clit. Keeping his thumb on her clit, he curls a finger into her. She jerks and whines, and when she comes, it is with a laugh on her breath.

Her whole body tightens around him. Her ass squeezes him past the point of pleasure into the threshold of pain. It is so good, and he is so close.

He pulls his fingers from her cunt and roughly hauls her off of him. No longer resting in his lap, her feet slip off the throne, and she falls to her knees before him.

He takes his wet cock in hand and jerks it roughly. And while she stares up at him with bleary, aroused eyes he comes on her face and breasts.

_Beautiful,_ he thinks.

"Simply beautiful," he chokes out and admires the way his white cum slides down her reddened cheeks, drips down her chin and her pink nipples.

She laughs then, and for a long time, that sound echoes throughout the room.

"You think I let you go," she says.

"But, the truth is, Killian, you've always been mine."

He stares at her dumbfounded, and then her words process.

He wants to laugh.

He wants to cry.

He wants to do anything but just stare at her.

But - he thought he had won. Thought he would get his revenge, thought by making her fuck him on his throne that he would _win_, but here she is, _laughing_ at him, calling him out for what he is.

_Hers._

He thought she'd set him free.

But he has been a prisoner all along.

* * *

She had always wanted to be a princess.

But now as she sits in his lap, wearing his golden crown, with him running his fingers through his sticky cum so that she can lick it off of him, she doesn't want to be a princess.

She wants to be a queen.


End file.
